ss persecutors, while the armed columns of
the Christian king stood fast in an apathy which has never been
explained, and which has left an unmovable blot on the otherwise fair
escutcheon of their leader. Nor was the sword of death stayed until
cupidity got the mastery of revenge. Then, indeed, the shrieks of the
wounded and the yells of their murderers grew less frequent, until,
finally, the cries of horror were lost to their ear, or were drowned in
the loud, long, and piercing whoops of the triumphant savages.

CHAPTER XVIII

"Why, anything:
An honorable murderer, if you will;
For naught I did in hate, but all in honor."

_Othello._

The bloody and inhuman scene rather incidentally mentioned than
described in the preceding chapter, is conspicuous in the pages of
colonial history, by the merited title of "The Massacre of William
Henry." It so far deepened the stain which a previous and very similar
event had left upon the reputation of the French commander, that it was
not entirely erased by his early and glorious death. It is now becoming
obscured by time; and thousands, who know that Montcalm died like a hero
on the plains of Abraham, have yet to learn how much he was deficient in
that moral courage without which no man can be truly great. Pages might
be written to prove, from this illustrious example, the defects of human
excellence; to show how easy it is for generous sentiments, high
courtesy, and chivalrous courage, to lose their influence beneath the
chilling blight of selfishness, and to exhibit to the world a man who
was great in all the minor attributes of character, but who was found
wanting when it became necessary to prove how much principle is superior
to policy. But the task would exceed our prerogatives; and, as history,
like love, is so apt to surround her heroes with an atmosphere of
imaginary brightness, it is probable that Louis de Saint Veran will be
viewed by posterity only as the gallant defender of his country, while
his cruel apathy on the shores of the Oswego and of the Horican will be
forgotten. Deeply regretting this weakness on the part of a sister muse,
we shall at once retire from her sacred precincts, within the proper
limits of our own humble vocation.

The third day from the capture of the fort was drawing to a close, but
the business of the narrative must still detain the reader on the shores
of the "holy lake." When last seen, the environs of the w